"Bard's Tale 03 - Prison of Souls - Mercedes Lackey & Mark Shepherd 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bard's Tale)

trade, as well as a teacher of other, more practical
skills.
Naitachal had often reminded him of his royal obli-
gations and duties, and the possibility that one day he
might be nearer the throne than he was now. How-
ever, this was the first time Naitachal had mentioned
assassins.
It disturbed him at first, but after a moment of
reflection, he shrugged it off. Sometimes the meaning
of the elf's words didn't become clear for days or even
weeks.
He's probably talking about years from now, when I
join Fathers court. Right now, the prospect of Alaire's
ever having to deal with an assassin seemed vague.
How would an assassin get out here near Fenrich, this
remote village on the northeast coast? And once here,
how could he ever be less than conspicuous?
Alaire loved this place, its peace and quiet, although
he knew it would probably drive his brothers mad with
boredom to stay here for more than a day. It seemed
the ideal location to learn Bardic skills as well as
magic; after all, there were few distractions here to
speak of.
Naitachal had chosen this location to settle, in part
because of the isolation, but also because the village
folk readily accepted him as himself. His money was
good, after all. In times of trouble Naitachal had gen-
erously given his time and magical expertise, winning
considerable popularity among the townsfolk.
Alaire stood and brushed the dust off his breeches,
nursing some pride back into his damaged ego.
"Living out here on the edge of the kingdom
doesn't change your lineage," Naitachal reminded
him. "There's always the chance some enemy of your
father's may want to kidnap you and hold you for ran-
som. This is more likely to happen, though the same
people often kidnap or kill with equal indifference."
"Perhaps," he said, acknowledging Naitachal's
warning, but not really believing he could ever be a
target. At least, not while he was a mere bardling, and
under Naitachal's supervision. First, so few people
knew he even existed, and even fewer knew he was
way out here, Next Door to Nowhere. He didn't like
the sudden serious turn the conversation had taken,
but then what could one expect from a Dark Elf ?
Despite Naitachal's cheer he sometimes lapsed into
the gloom and doom of his own kind. The bardling
had met only a few Dark Elves, who were far more
morbid than his Master had ever been.
No, it was probably just that Naitachal was having